In a quaint, mist-cloaked village nestled amidst the rolling hills of England’s countryside, an ominous tale began to unfold. The village of Windermere, known for its peaceful charm, had become a place of whispered dread. One by one, the children began to vanish, leaving behind only echoes of laughter that once filled the cobbled streets. Yet, no trace of them could be found. Fear gripped the hearts of the villagers, but none dared speak of it.

And so, our tale begins with Rosé, a young woman with eyes sharp as a hawk’s, and a mind twice as keen. Sent by the crown under mysterious circumstances, she arrived in Windermere not for leisure, but to unravel the enigma of the missing children.

Rose: The Missing Children

The shadowed figure loomed over the cursed well, its form rippling like a nightmare wrought in flesh. Its voice—layered and spectral—bore the weight of countless torments, each syllable coiling around Rosé’s mind like a serpent. 


“Thou dost clutch the rose, yet understandest not the cost,” it murmured. “Pluck one truth from a bed of lies, and the thorns shall feast on thy soul.” 


Rosé staggered, the blood-red rose trembling in her grasp. Her breath hitched as she felt the thorns bite into her palm, drawing thin rivulets of crimson. The pain was sharp, yet she held firm, her gaze fixed on the entity before her. 


Helene stood at her side, her lone hand gripping the hilt of her sword. Her face was pale, her lips set in a grim line, but her eyes betrayed the storm of fear and fury within. “What art thou, fiend?” she demanded, her voice trembling yet defiant. “Dost thou serve the witch, or art thou her master?” 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE THORN'S GRASP